r Heaven's
mercy, she had kept her heart closed against Cupid until he, the Emperor,
had approached in order, like that other Caesar, to come, to see, and to
conquer. But she was only a woman, and pity in a woman's soft heart was
as hard to silence as the murmur of a swift mountain stream or the
rushing of the wind.

Yesterday she had learned from the violinist Massi that the knight's
condition was much more critical, and he desired before his death to
clasp her hand again. So, believing that disobedience committed to
lighten the last hours of a dying man would be pardonable before God and
human beings, she had visited the unfortunate Wolf.

The helpful and joy-bestowing power of good works, which the Protestants
denied, had thus become very evident to her; for since she had clasped
the sufferer's hand an indescribable sense of happiness had taken
possession of her, while the knight began to improve. The news had
reached her just before this, the Emperor's, arrival, had made her happy,
and, in spite of her evil conscience, had put her in a very cheerful
mood. But now this beautiful evening had become the saddest one of her
whole life.

Fresh tears, and the other means of conciliation inspired by her loving
heart, then induced the angry lover to forgive her.

Barbara felt this as a great piece of good fortune, and made every effort
to curb the refractory temper which, hitherto, had found nothing less
welcome than humble submission.

Day after day since that evening the confessor had been informed that
nothing interrupted the concord of the lovers, and that Barbara often
prayed very fervently in the private chapel. This pleased the almoner,
and when Cassian told him that, on the evening after the quarrel, the
Emperor had again come to the castle to remain a long time, he rejoiced.

To Barbara this visit had been a true heavenly blessing, but though
Charles showed himself sufficiently loving, she felt, even during the
succeeding visits, that since that fateful episode something difficult to
describe or explain had rested like a gloomy shadow on the Emperor's
joyous confidence.

This change in her lover could scarcely be due to her, for she had
honestly endeavoured to avoid everything which could anger him.

How should she have suspected that the great student of human nature to
whom she had given her heart perceived the restraint which she imposed
upon herself in every interview with him, and that the moderation t